


take me to your paradise

by venomedveins



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Parties, Smut, just SHAMELESS SMUT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 02:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16965855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: Agron and Nasir meet at a party. They do E. Then they fuck.





	take me to your paradise

**Author's Note:**

> I'm transfecting some random one shots from Tumblr over here just in case Tumblr explodes. Also for collection and archival purposes. 
> 
> Also this may be part of that drag race fic I wrote?

Agron doesn’t know how he gets talked into coming to these things. It’s not his scene, but after enough alcohol, he starts feeling the pull of it. Neon lights swing over the narrow hallway leading to the dancefloor. Bodies press to the stone, grinding against each other, pulling clothes off, drinks spilling on the floor. It’s so hot down here, suffocating and when a man brushes past Agron, he doesn’t flinch away from the obvious grope to his ass.

Duro is lost in the crowd the minute they get into the main room, being pulled out of his shirt and between two bikini clad women and one very glittery man. Spartacus leaves Agron next, led away by a grinning Mira. It wasn’t like they had any pretenses. They may have all come together, but the goal was not to go home alone.

Agron finds himself pushed forward into the throng of the bodies, hips pressing against him and hands running down his chest. One person slowly pulls up the bottom of his t-shirt, brushes something cool along his hip, and when he looks down Agron can see the traces of neon green paint. He blames the whiskey coursing through his veins that he leans into it, lets the crowd consume him.

Music changes, picks up the beat. It’s like a fucking vision, the crowd parts and Agron sees him. Black hair pulled up and curling around his bun. Loose tank top slit up the sides, a swirl of tattoos over his ribs and neon paint up his arm. He’s got on little, jean cutoffs that hug his ass, show off his thighs and calves. Agron wants to bite them, lift them around his hips, knock him off balance. 

Agron can see the sweat glistening on his skin, glimmering and he wants to taste him, pull him tight and strip him down. It’s a fucking magnet when the man’s dark eyes snap to him, cheeks flushed and mouth gaping. There is a man behind him, trying to grind on him, a shadow compared to the one in front. The man is distracted, grinning slowly at Agron.

He drains his cup, something bright and fruity, licking his lips slowly and Agron couldn’t fucking resist that. No fucking way.

Agron shoves through the crowd, even in the frenzy they part ways for him. Agron watches as the man tugs on his shirt, shimmies his hips a little faster, following the beat. He doesn’t stop, just changes tactics, rolling forward to slot to Agron’s front. He’s a fucking incubus and Agron is willing, so fucking willing.

“You’ve got pretty eyes,” the man leans up on his toes an Agron has to stoop a little to hear him.

“You’ve got pretty everything,” Agron smirks back, one of his hands boldly running down the man’s back. “I’m Agron.”

“Nasir,” the man grins slow and easy, fingertips cold when they lift Agron’s shirt to touch along his waistband, “You wanna have some fun?”

They’re barely moving in comparison to the rest of the crowd, presses tight along each other, but Agron can’t fucking focus when Nasir looks up at him through his eyelashes like that. He wants to cross every line, every boundary, wants to find out what it means to get lost in the music and the heat and Nasir’s scent - fruity and spicey and bright.

“What do you have in mind?” Agron really isn’t against fucking him right here, pressing him up against one of the basement pillars. With the spinning lights and the overall trance setting, Agron doubts anyone would give a fuck.

Pulling back just enough to wiggle his fingers into the pocket of his shorts, Nasir pulls out a small packet before slipping a pill out of its confines. He presses it neatly to the tip of his tongue before hooking an arm around Agron’s neck and pulls him down.

The kiss is sloppy, Nasir’s tongue pressing into Agron’s mouth before their lips even meet. Agron lets him, relaxes for just a split second, just enough to let the tablet dissolve under his tongue. Then, he grips the back of Nasir’s hair and pulls him under. The kiss turns dirtier, Agron bites into Nasir’s bottom lip and in retaliation, Nasir drags his fingernails down Agron’s back. There is no air between them, shoved tightly together, and Agron is pretty sure he could drown like this.

Agron has to pull back when his eyes start to blur a little. Nasir’s mouth is bruised, puffy and red, and Agron drags his thumb along it. There are firelights of glitter and color blaring around the outskirts of Agron’s eyes and every brush of Nasir’s body against him feels like liquid pleasure.

Nasir takes his own pill, pulls the water bottle of whiskey from Agron’s slack hand, washes it back and finishes it. He drops it on the floor and then turns with his back against Agron’s chest, lifting his arms.

The music comes back full force, a thumping mess and are those lyrics? Agron can’t focus on anything but the strip of Nasir’s as that peaks out of his shorts every time he swings his hips like that. It’s like he’s made from the beat, rolls his hips back perfectly against Agron’s and Agron doesn’t remember beginning to dance, but with the way Nasir moves, it’s hard not to. He runs his hands all over Nasir’s chest. Dips under the flimsy tank top, touches the cool metal chain wrapped around his waist, hooks his thumbs in Nasir’s belt loops and yanks him back firmer.

Everything is highlighted in swifts of pink and yellow and green and purple and Agron grips the back of Nasir’s hair again, bends him over at the waist. Nasir goes with it, arches his back and glances at Agron over his shoulder with a grin. It’s like the music is easing them together, liquid and sticky as Agron thrusts against Nasir’s ass, a tease to please.

“You’re huge,” Nasir pants, up close with his eyes wide and fingers down the front of Agron’s pants, easing over the slit of Agron’s cock.

“You want it?” Agron asks, and he can’t remember his own hands falling to Nasir’s ass but they’re there, pulling his shorts up and he can feel the soft skin and heat between his thighs.

“You’re so gold,” Nasir’s fingers don’t still between Agron’s lets but his other hand bruises over Agron’s cheek, “Neon god.”

“Come on.”

Agron wraps an arm around Nasir’s narrow shoulders, pulls him from the middle of the dancefloor and into the darker edges of the basement. There are tables here and random couches. Half of them are already full, but with Agron’s high, it’s not hard to growl in someone’s face until they move.

Hands sliding down the plains of Nasir’s back again, Agron grips his ass and lifts him onto a couch, slides his hips down and between Nasir’s spread legs. It’s effortless and Nasir giggles are cut short when Agron gets his teeth on his pulse point. He doesn’t go still though, boots dragging along Agron’s ribs as he thrusts up, whines for it. Agron pins his wrists to the soft velvet, pulls back to lap at Nasir’s open mouth, grinning.

“Tell me,” Agron demands, something nagging in the back of his mind, reminding him to do something - ask for permission.

“Fuck me.”

Nasir slips his hand down between them, gets the buttons undone on his shorts and tugs them down as far as he can. The blue neon light swings across them, illuminating Nasir’s sharp hips, his pierced navel, the easy way in which he gets Agron’s jeans open too.

Digging in his back pocket, Agron miraculously remembers he brought lube before squirting it on his fingertips. He can’t remember why this is a bad idea. Nasir looks like a Van Gough painting, swirling lights and freckles and desire and Agron has to kiss him again just to make sure he’s real.

Hitching Nasir’s legs up by his ribs, Agron keeps kissing him when he slips in that first inch. The pleasure is explosive, higher plane shit that he would write poetics about if he any fucking skills. Instead, he strokes Nasir’s face and thinks of the heaven that this must be, higher than that dingy little basement from before.

Nasir is crying out, tears in his eyes but he’s gripping Agron’s shoulders hard, pulling him down. Kisses him like he’s fucking drowning, Doc Martens digging into Agron’s spine. He can’t remember why, but Agron swears that there was a tattoo of a red snake on Nasir’s ankle and that was bad. He can’t fucking recall.

Balls deep and Agron forgets his name, forgets time and space. Forgets that he’s a fucking human being. Instead, it’s all about the heavenly lights and Nasir’s glittering eyes and the navel ring that bounces every time Agron thrusts in.

“Agron!” Nasir is crying the words into Agron’s eardrum and it’s like to the tune of Ave Maria, some holy shit that Agron would laugh about but he’s on fucking fire and there is an explosion happening inside his body.

Agron thinks he’s telling Nasir to marry him, that he loves him, that he’s the fucking sun in the goddamn sky. The high is full force and Agron is so fucking close but Nasir hasn’t tipped over yet and Agron remembers his manners, thinks of how beautiful it would be to get Nasir to arch his back like before.

Hand clumsy, but he gets a fist around the tip of Nasir’s cock, spits down on it and twists his wrist and that’s enough. Nasir’s scream is lost in the pulse of the room, of the thrumming, but Agron catches of it on his mouth, laps it from Nasir’s trembling collarbones. Shares it between their tongues, teeth, anything.

Static electricity and Agron can feel the bolts quaking from the tips of his cock to his spine to this back to his shoulders. The whole couch is shaking as he pounds into Nasir who is scrambling up his body, heels digging in and nails drawing blood on his bare back and when did Agron lose his shirt?

Slumping down, Agron kisses Nasir everywhere, sucks on his skin and licks him clean like it’s too much of an effort to check him over just yet. Nasir pets his hair and makes quiet little moans into Agron’s ear, his neck.

“My mouth is numb,” Agron mutters after a moment, lifting his hips enough to slip from Nasir.

“Just your mouth?” Nasir laughs over the music, breathless and weak.

His haze has cleared just enough for Agron to really assess the situation. They’re half hidden in the dark, green velvet couch slammed against the wall. Nasir’s shorts are hanging off one of his shoes, boots still in place. There is a little bit of come still leaking from him. Agron somehow must have ripped his tank top open because it lays like a vest, revealing more tattoos and a whole path of kiss bruises.

“You going to fuck a boy raw and then just leave?” Nasir asks as Agron pulls his jeans back over his hips.

Pulling the tatters of Nasir’s tank top off him, Agron uses the cloth to clean Nasir up as much as he can before helping him back into his shorts. It’s then that Agron notices he never was wearing underwear.

“Nah.” Leaning forward, Agron gently kisses Nasir’s mouth before pulling back. “Wanna grab a smoke and some coffee?”

“It’s like three in the morning,” Nasir shakes his head, grimacing when he stands. “Nowhere is open.”

“I never said it had to be out somewhere.”

Agron guides Nasir’s hands above his head only to slip his own shirt down over Nasir’s head. It lands mid-thigh, dwarfs him, and the heat is right back there as Nasir’s hands slide down Agron’s bare chest, trace the sharp cut of his hips.

“I have a very expensive coffee machine.” Agron reassures, slipping his fingers through Nasir’s before leading him out of the dingy basement and into the cool night.


End file.
